Chapter Five: Dance of the Bugs

That night they all gathered around the bonfire to eat and trade stories of their travels and experiences. Binesi's uncle, Wakíŋyaŋ Heȟáka, had the most beautiful headdress and talked of the many lands at which he had traded. The other adults nodded their heads when he spoke or mentioned sights and sounds of the various regions he’d visited. His father, Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla, commented on the matching set of eagle feathers that hung from each side of Wakíŋyaŋ Heȟáka’s face, each from a respective eagle wing—hanging like teardrops.

Wakíŋyaŋ Heȟáka told of how, when traveling far past the lands of where Binesi and his father lived, he was weary and hungry. The encampment he was seeking remained miles from him. While sauntering along the river bank he came upon an eagle that had caught a fish. He was dreadfully hungry and wanted the fish for himself.

"Hear this, nephews and nieces. Three winters past, I walked alone beyond the lands of your father’s lodge —where the rivers fork like a snake’s tongue. My belly was empty as a dry gourd. The camp I sought still hid beyond the next plateau."

(He pauses to spit into the fire, the embers hissing.)

"Then —ho! —an eagle drops from the sky, a fat trout in its claws. It lands on the riverbank, not ten paces away. I freeze. My mouth waters. That fish could feed me for a day… but the Wanblí (eagle) sees me. We lock eyes."

(Making the children shiver and their eyes widen as he mimicked the eagle's stare.)

"And then? The fool bird let go of the fish! Flies off without a sound—like it wanted me to take it. So I do —but first, I thank the spirit. ‘Pilamaya,’ I say. ‘I owe you.’ "

(He tears a bite of buffalo meat with his teeth, chewing slowly for effect.)

"But listen. Later, near the plateau, I hear snarling. A pack of šuŋgmanitu (wolves) has cornered another eagle —this one fighting with a snake in its talons. The eagle’s wings are spread wide, hissing like fire. Brave, but stupid. The lead wolf lunges —snap! —catches a wing. Then a second wolf grabs the other. The eagle slashes with its claws —Tka! Tka! —blood sprays, but the pack is too many."

(Mimes the eagle’s talons raking the air.)

"By the time I reach them? Only feathers left. One wolf trots off with a wing. The alpha drags the body. The rest? Fighting over the dead snake. These two feathers are all I saved. I wear them to remember: the first eagle gave me life. The second? I didn’t know to hurry —so I failed to return the first eagle’s favor. My debt remains unpaid —and now it has doubled!"

(The silence hangs heavier than his head. Then he grunts and reaches for more meat as an elder nodded solemnly.)

Soon, everyone was enjoying themselves and the food was fantastic with lean cuts of buffalo and deer with some pickled squash. There was even fish from the ocean which was brought in by boat that very day. The children were all running around and around the fire, as the men began to play their drums and flutes and the women started to dance.

Uncle’s head tilted and bumped Binesi's —”when you dance, dance not like a man —but like the swallow eyeing a beetle. ‘Fear makes you stiff,’ he murmured. ‘But the bird stays loose… ready to strike or fly.’ "

At one point during the night all the cousins surrounded Binesi and sang him blessings for his birthday. He was embarrassed and some of the older girls chuckled at his shyness and naiveté causing him to blush even more. Grabbing his attention, Wakíŋyaŋ Heȟáka called him over and presented him with his first medicine bag, made from buffalo skin.

Telling him that to be a good warrior he will need to learn how to heal. “That bird is your first test.”

Making Binesi feel unsure if he will be able to show his uncle he was a good learner, a good healer.

His mind still swirling from the stories, from the new cousins, from the gifts, Binesi sought refuge and went back to where the smaller children played, by the mothers who wouldn’t let their young ones too near the fire. He sat with them to try to play with them. They began to cry when he grabbed the toys and the mothers quickly yelled at him to let the babies play. He gave them their toys and sat down to join his smallest cousin present, who was about 3, in inspecting a few flowers nearby. The colors weren’t really visible at night but they could still smell the odor that surrounded them as they sat on the ground.

The cousin grabbed a flower and just then a bug crawled over his cousin’s fingers, just as a mosquito had on him hours before. This time, he didn’t flinch. He acted—grabbing the cousin’s wrist and marching him back to the mother. After showing her the bug on the wrist, the mother brushed it away, said thanks, and patted Binesi's head as she turned back to talking with the other mothers.

The next day he again saw his youngest cousin by the morning blanket of food. They both were eating and the little cousin was poking at an ant with a twig. Binesi hit upon an idea. Immediately following the morning meal, he got his little cousin to collect all the ants he could in a pottery jar. Those ants he brought to the basket his Lakhota aunts had constructed for him while he cared for the bird. He dumped the ants on the bottom of the basket and the now famished bird quickly pounced on them. Binesi smiled widely. He was beaming. Now, he thought he could do this. He could get his little cousin to supply collected ants for the bird—so he could live up to his responsibility.

After a while, he went outside to find his cousin and get him to catch more. He went to the wigwam where his family stayed and heard his father shouting and complaining to the Elders. When the mother came to the front, he asked her if his little cousin could come out and play. She said no—his father was very upset with him for disobeying and breaking some ornaments on his crazy dance outfit. So, now the little cousin is grounded and is forbidden to play with the other children for three days. And must be smudged before returning.

The little boy walked away feeling distraught. The bird couldn’t last three days without eating. It was already weak and injured. Now, he had to figure something else out. Or face his fears and actually catch some of these things himself. Later that evening, he thought maybe if he had more feathers it would help him face the bugs; he decided to take a couple of the feathers the bird shed from the basket and adorn his hair with them. The bird seemed to resent the encroachment on its space, squawking and flapping its wings at his hands. The bird sought refuge in a corner of the basket after a few departing swipes of his good wing. He liked how the feathers glimmered and had a metallic sheen.

Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla entered the wigwam a short time later and noticed his son’s newly decorated hair. His father looked at him sternly; Binesi sheepishly told him that he found some feathers in the basket. Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla asked him, “—were they on the floor of the basket or still on the bird? and did you make offerings to the bird for the feathers?” He looked sheepish—his father stared cross. He yelled at him and told him of how he must learn to live up to life’s responsibilities. He must learn the true meaning of ”Amkwawamkawey!” He declared Binesi would miss the meal to reflect on his actions—and join him at dawn to hunt for the bird’s food.

Binesi stared at the basket. The swallow’s beak tapped the basket—a sound like stones dropping into an empty pot. His chest ached. Not for the bird’s hunger, but for the lie he’d told himself: that courage meant never flinching. Outside, an ant crawled over a leaf, dragging a seed twice its size. He didn’t look away. Somewhere in his belly, the swallow’s hunger echoed.

Chapter Five: Key Elements